Dying Feels A Lot Like Falling
by Shrapnel33
Summary: It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end. The sudden stop is always his first sign he's alive. Again. Connor's not a deviant. He's definitely not. (spoilers for bad ending with Hank. TW for implied suicide.)


Dying feels a lot like falling, he decides. He fell to his death once, pulled down by another android while saving a little girl. The physical sensation of falling from a rooftop was not dissimilar to the feeling of falling out of his brain as he was downloaded from his dead or dying corpse and uploaded into a new body. _It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end._ The sudden stop is always his first sign he's alive. Again.

This time he remembers running, chasing a deviant, too slow to catch it but quick enough to save Hank and being rewarded with three bullets between the shoulder blades. He felt his body hit the floor, the data that made up his mind continuing to fall as though he were passing into the earth and then the sudden stop as he found himself staring at the metal disk just below his bare feet, the machine with a tight grip on the back of his neck the only thing stopping him from collapsing to the floor like he had done moments before in the hallway of the broadcast room. At least Hank was alive.

He can't move, can only hang from the machine and put his thoughts in order, storing evidence and memories in his new mind palace. It feels the same, but different. Like getting kicked out of an apartment with boxes of his possessions and moving directly into an identical apartment on a different floor. Everything _could_ go exactly where it was before, but why not mix it up a bit? He tries stacking it all alphabetically instead of chronologically. It gives him some sense of control even if he can't even move his eyes yet.

The control panel to his left beeped as soon as he entered this body, but the voices to his right didn't seem to be in a rush to get him down yet, discussing that morning's headlines in bored tones. If he could say anything he would explain to them that he needed to return to his assigned precinct as soon as possible, but he was helpless. The alphabetical order was bothering him, so he went back to rearranging his new space.

Twenty minutes and eight permutations of his mind palace later, someone finally disengaged the machine and it gently lowered him until his feet pressed onto the floor, the metal disk cool to the touch. The technician breezed through the mandatory evaluations, checking balance and reaction times before sending him on his way without a word.

He called a taxi as he tugged on his jacket and made sure his tie was properly snug against his throat, stepping out of the tower of glass and steel and into the chilled November air. It was only a few minutes of standing in the snow before the taxi arrived, a short drive, and then another thirty minutes of standing in the snow in front of Kamski's house before Hank arrived. At least Hank was alive.

Except that Hank looked conflicted with his emotions when he pulled his car into the broad driveway and saw Connor. Overall he looked pissed, like he wanted to punch Connor in his goddamn mouth, but it only slightly eclipsed how pale he had gone, like he had seen a ghost and was about to break down crying. The lieutenant closed his eyes and sighed, composing himself before getting out of his car, slamming the door harder than necessary.

By the time they returned to the car fifteen minutes later, Hank still wanted to punch someone and it wasn't just Connor this time. Both machine and creator had made it onto his shit list and he wasn't certain of how much more he could put up with. But at least Hank was alive.

Connor couldn't figure out why he kept telling himself that. He wasn't a deviant, he couldn't feel happy or glad, so why did he feel relieved every time Hank made it through a dangerous situation? He wasn't a deviant, he was a machine and he shouldn't feel these things. And he certainly shouldn't feel guilty about Chloe or for making Hank upset, though the fact he wasted his question on rA9 and didn't get anything useful out of it nagged at him.

And then he shouldn't have felt guilty for making Hank mad enough to quit the force entirely. Maybe he should've felt guilty for knocking the shit out of Gavin, but he will swear until the end of his existence that it was self defense. Smugness is a new feeling, but one he savors.

Markus tries to undermine Connor, tries to convince him he's a deviant too. _You're Connor, aren't you? That famous deviant hunter. You really don't have to do this. You don't have to obey them anymore. You are alive. You can decide who you want to be. You could be free. Have you never wondered who you really are? Whether you are just a machine executing a program or a living being, capable of reason. I think the time has come for you to ask yourself that question. It's time to decide._

 _Nice try; but I'm no deviant._

A scuffle, a chase, a detour through the crumbling ship rocked by chaos and confusion, and then finally catching Markus in the bowels of the ship again as he readied to arm the C-4 plastered to the fission reactors.

Markus was faster than he would've expected. Tackling him to the ground, scrambling for the gun and dealing a bullet right between his eyes.

 _We'll meet again, Markus. This isn't over_.

He fell again. His body hit the deck and his brain landed in a new body. Frustration raged in his mind. Amanda won't be happy that he failed again. Hank won't be happy that he died again. At least Hank was alive.

Amanda connected to him before his feet even touched the ground, giving him one last chance to accomplish his mission. _If you don't, I will be forced to replace you._

Did he care if he was replaced? Yes. Which gave him a red flag that he didn't dare mention to Amanda or any of the techs. Dying was one thing, but being decommissioned… he suspects there is no falling sensation for that. There's no sudden stop as he skids into a new body. There will be just… nothing. Maybe they'll keep his memories on a computer or a thumb drive, but it wouldn't be _him._ There would be no conscience.

If this is to be his last mission, he wants to say goodbye to Hank. If he succeeds and continues living, all the better, but if he fails and he is immediately taken for decommissioning… he will regret not saying farewell. He worries for Hank as well, maybe he will be able to reconcile, fix the huff of anger Hank had left the precinct in.

He steps out of the taxi on a rainy night, the light in the windows dim as the only source came from the kitchen at the back of the house.

He tries the doorknob without even touching the bell, finding it unlocked. Sumo meets him at the door, bumping his head against Connor's hand. Connor gives him a gentle pat before moving into the kitchen.

Hank is sat at the table, a handle of whiskey, a photo, and a revolver laid out before him.

"I was worried about you, lieutenant. I came by to see if you're alright."

Hank looked up at him, his face empty of emotion. He was neither surprised nor did he seem angry to see Connor. Maybe disappointed.

"I needed to see you. In spite of all of our differences, I am glad I had the chance to meet you."

Hank's eyes shifted back to the photo, the young boy smiling up at him. Connor could see that whatever facade Hank hid behind, it was quickly crumbling.

"You should stop looking at that photo, lieutenant. Nothing can change the past. But you can learn to live again. For yourself. And for Cole…"

"Y'know, every time you died and came back, it made me think of Cole. I'd give anything to hold him again," Hanks voice started to crack and he dropped into a whisper, "but humans don't come back."

"Hank, I-"

"Now leave me alone... Go on, complete your mission, since that's all you care about…" Hank lowered his eyes to the table, tapping his finger against the revolver. Connor hesitated and Hank clenched his fists, slamming them onto the table. "Get outta here!"

Connor spun on his heels, moving to the door and letting it click shut behind him. A war raged inside him. But he had a mission to do. A mission he had to finish on his own.

At least Hank was... No, his intentions were clear. Hank wouldn't be alive for much longer if Connor didn't do something. He could see the red wall behind him, blocking him from the house, ordering him into the taxi to continue his mission. But he couldn't, Hank wasn't going to survive the night if he didn't do something.

His body stayed rooted to the sidewalk, but he started tearing at the walls of his mind palace, any piece of red he could get a grip on he twisted and yanked, fighting for control, fighting to do anything of his own volition.

The wall shattered and he stumbled backwards a step, his jaw falling slack in surprise. It took a moment to get his thoughts in order again, to get used to the brand new open space, like rearranging after tearing down the annoying wall between the kitchen and the living room in an already cramped apartment, being able to stretch out and breathe properly for the first time.

Hank. Hank needs-

The crack of a pistol and Sumo barking in a panic reached his ears before he could even pivot on his heel. Too late.

His legs gave out. Falling again, but this time the sudden stop was when he landed in the too tall grass of the front lawn. Still alive. Still in the same body. Newly deviant and more alive than he had ever been, but arguably the most dead he had ever felt in his lifetimes.


End file.
